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Pit of Despair
Hey everyone! My name is Forestpaw13 and I was here when PJFF was founded, but I left because of duties on other wikis. I just found this story again and realised that it's really bad, so I'm going to rewrite it! Enjoy! Pit of Despair Pit is a seventeen-year-old unclaimed demigod. He lives in the Hermes cabin at Camp Half-Blood and helps to train as many kids as possible before they get claimed. For years he has wondered who is father is. For years he has never found out. For years the kids his age have teased him about who it could be. Since Percy Jackson saved Olympus he has wondered why his father has not claimed him. Read the story, people, and find out what happens. Chapter 1 The line of demigods in front of me had never been longer. All of them looked confused and scared. They were whispering to one another as I walked across the training field toward them. "Yo!" I yelled. "Listen up!" They all quieted quickly. This was not normal. I was Pit, seventeen years old. Not having an official god parent made me a threat, because nobody knew if I was a joke yet. I had never shown any unusual talents, which made everything far more confusing. From my back I drew an arrow from my quiver. I pulled my bow from its place in a pouch over my shoulder. "Today all of you will be given a basic test on your ability to shoot an arrow from a bow." I held up mine. The little demigods got excited. They thought they'd be able to use my bow, which I had spent years perfecting. "Not mine," I yelled. "The standard-issue ones." They all looked disappointed, but they all paid attention anyway. "Chiron wants to know how far and how accurately you can shoot." I was known for getting straight down to business. "So I have some targets set up. The first one is ten feet away." I pointed to it. It had a giant picture of Kronos on it, which Percy had glued on there one day in a fit of pride. "Get in line," I told the kids, "and shoot three arrows each at the target." I knew each one by name, a little fact that they didn't know. The first child to approach the line had his own bow. The others were busy scrambling for the best standard-issue bows they could find. His name was Jasper, son of Apollo, and I expected only the best from him. He pulled back his bow, placed an arrow inside it, and shot it. It flew straight at the target, just missing the bulls-eye. The other two were the same. "Good job," I commented, writing on my clipboard. "Now you have to wait again, sorry." The group of other kids was now scrambling not to be the next person to have to shoot. I raised my arm and pointed at a kid named Tyler, son of Demetrius, and told him to shoot. He did decent for a kid his age. He managed to hit the target three times not anywhere close to the edge. "Good," I said as he walked away toward where Jasper was standing. The line of kids went slowly down until one kid stepped forward. His name was Jack and he was also unclaimed, like me. Every kid who had already shot instantly ran over to where we were standing and watched with anticipation. I was shocked until I heard suppressed laughter coming from the back. Jack's ears turned a bright shade of red. He looked at me desperately, eyes wide with fear. "Go on," I called from my spot. Jack shot his first arrow and it hit the ground four feet in front of the target. The second went over the target, and the third hit it but bounced off. The laughter grew until they were all laughing openly. I stood up, marched to the line, pulled out my bow and arrow once more, and shot a perfect bulls eye. Everybody was silent. Jack stood next to me with his head bowed. "Have any of you gotten a bulls eye yet?" I asked. A voice said from the back, "I almost did!" "Shut up, Jasper," other voices muttered. I heard Jasper being elbowed and suppressed a smile. "No," I said, answering my own question. "So shut up. I could laugh at all of you if I wanted, but I won't." I walked back to my place, sat in the grass, and let the rest of the kids go through. When they were done I moved the target back ten feet. I had them line up and do it all again. Jasper was the only person who managed to hit the target. Jack's shots were like everybody else's, they either went too far or too short. I shot a perfect bulls eye just for kicks before moving the target back once more. I went back to the line. "Is anybody up for a challenge?" I asked them, looking around. "For trying, I'll give Chiron a notice on my report, hit the target or not." Then, just for the sake of impressing them, I spun around and shot a third bulls eye without really trying. I heard their whispers. I pulled the arrow out and yelled from the target, "Well? Who wants to?" Jasper stood from his spot where he was sitting in the grass and stepped toward the line. He wanted that good report, I knew it. I smiled to myself as his first two arrows missed the target. The third hit the very edge. "Nice," I called. "Anybody else?" And, shaking, Jack stood, holding three arrows in his right hand and his bow in the other. "No," the kids yelled, "Jack, sit down!" I raised my voice, "Let him have a try!" Jack looked at me fearfully before he stepped to the line and proceeded to miss the first two shots by a mile. The third shot now. Jack was crying with embarrassment, but he had to finish the three arrows before he could step away. He shut his eyes and shot. We all heard it before we saw it: the arrow hitting the target with a loud crack. And then we saw the bulls eye. Nobody spoke. I made a mark on my clipboard but said nothing. Everybody watched as the unclaimed demigod walked away across the field, dropping his bow on the ground. I stood up. "All right, guys, thanks for coming out! I'm done with y'all, so you can go ahead and do your normal activities." They dropped their bows and ran, and I spent the next hour cleaning up. Everybody else was asleep. I couldn't stop being awake. I couldn't stop thinking about who my father was. I knew my mother knew, but she refused to tell me, telling me that it's traditional for the godly parent to reveal themselves on their own time and of their own accord. Suddenly I heard a noise outside. A boy walked into the cabin, breathing a sigh that I could tell was relief, and as he passed through the candlelight on the wall I managed to get a glimpse of his face. It was Jack. And his face was bruised. Chapter 2 I woke up in a dreamy haze, and, remembering what day it was, groaned. I would have to start training for the younger demigods today in my favourite art of the bow and arrow. I pulled on my bright orange Camp Half-Blood t-shirt and left the Hermes cabin quickly. I crossed the field, hearing the snores of all of the other young demigods, still asleep. The Ares cabin was always, always the loudest. I reached the shed where I kept the standard-issue bows and leaned against the side. "Dad," I whispered, "where are you?" "Listen up," I called to the demigods in my group. On one end stood Jasper, scuffing at the ground, and on the other, Jack, who was staring at the ground with his hands in his pockets. "Here's the deal. I don't have to train you," I explained. "But I am, because we need an army." I pounded my fist on my hand. "And not just any army- a good one. Trained by demigods, made up of demigods. We aren't here to fool around with our friends. That's something you'll never see me do here. We are here to train and that is all." The looks on their faces showed pure astonishment. They were not expecting this from me, Pit, the unclaimed kid in the Hermes cabin. "If you aren't here to learn, I suggest you get out of my sight before I report you to Chiron to stepping out of line," I snapped. Nobody budged. "Good," I said. I switched into my normal training more. "Where is your respect?" I screamed. "Drop your bows and take a jog!" The waiting demigods were so surprised that none of them moved. "Go!" I screamed at them, "what are you waiting for! I'll tell you when you can stop!" They all dropped their bows and fled. For an hour I watched them jog around the field. The day was hazy but my eyes worked just as well. They ran and ran and I stared at the sky and waited for my father to come. When I called them back I had tightened all of their bowstrings and I made them pull back their bowstrings until I could see the sweat run down their faces. I could see their muscles bulging to comply with every direction I gave. Only Jack did not sweat or pant or bulge. He stood there, staring straight ahead, the bruises on his face nastier than ever. "Now I want you all to shoot five arrows at this target," I commanded. I rolled it out in front of them. They shot, like beginners would, one by one. All of them hit the target at least four times and looked happily astonished at one another. Jack hit the bulls eye once, after I pulled the arrows out, twice, thrice, four times, five times. And the lesson was over. As they left, chatting back and forth, I tightened my own bowstrings tighter than ever and pulled, staring straight ahead, hoping to see my father.